gested. "And
I will pay you a handsome salary."

Bernardine could not be persuaded.

"No," she said. "I could not earn money that way: it would not suit me.
And besides, you would not care to be a long time with me: you would
soon tire of me. You think you would like to have me with you now. But
I know how it would be: You would be sorry, and so should I. So let us
part as we are now: you going your way, and I going mine. We live in
different worlds, Mrs. Reffold. It would be as senseless for me to
venture into yours, as for you to come into mine. Do you think I am
unkind?"

So they parted. Mrs. Reffold had spoken no word of affection to
Bernardine, but at the, station, as she bent down to kiss her, she
whispered:

"I know you will not think too hardly of me. Still, will you promise
me? And if you are ever in trouble, and I can help you, will you write
to me?"

And Bernardine promised.

When she got back to her room, she found a small packet on her table.
It contained Mr. Reffold's watch-chain. She had so often seen him
playing with it. There was a little piece of paper enclosed with it,
and Mr. Reffold had written on it some two months ago: "Give my watch-
chain to Little Brick, if she will sacrifice a little of her pride, and
accept the gift." Bernardine unfastened her watch from the black hair
cord, and attached it instead to Mr. Reffold's massive gold chain.

As she sat there fiddling with it, the idea seized her that she would
be all the better for a day's outing. At first she thought she would go
alone, and then she decided to ask Robert Allitsen. She learnt from
Marie that he was in the dark room, and she hastened down. She knocked
several times before there was any answer.

"I can't be disturbed just now," he said. "Who is it?"

"I can't shout to you," she said.

The Disagreeable Man opened the door of the dark room.

"My negatives will be spoilt," he said gruffly. Then seeing Bernardine
standing there, he added:

"Why, you look as though you wanted some brandy."

"No," she said, smiling at his sudden change of manner. "I want fresh
air, a sledge drive, and a day's outing. Will you come?"

He made no answer, and retired once more into the dark room. Then he
came out with his camera.

"We will go to that inn again," he said cheerily. "I want to take the
photographs to those peasants."

In half an hours time they were on their way. It was the same drive as
before: and since then, Bernardine